Longsuffering

Ashes Book

that site I started

from a piece of courage

about love and compassion

- Vishnu

Jakarta, Vishnu

7 Years ago

Vishnu Pov

My smile expanded when I arrived at the boarding house. Jakarta always offers hot and stinging air. I threw my backpack into the bed that still looked neat. Shower was the first thing I wanted to do.

My body was fresh after coming out of the bathroom. I wear plain t-shirts to accompany this hot afternoon. I opened the laptop I just pulled out of the backpack. My stacked college assignments should be completed immediately.

Not feeling the time passed, it turned out to rotate my brain with a task filled with numbers that was quite draining of energy. I did not move a bit from the table I used to complete my college assignment, except when the ashar Adhan arrived. While the food and drink that mother provided for me I kept half of it on the table, I put it next to the laptop that continued to light up. So that I do not reach too far to reach him I thought, although until now not half of the food filled my stomach.

After the adzan magrib reverberated, I decided to stop my activities. Stretch my muscles a little until isya at least. Then I can continue to make my personal presentation documents tomorrow in front of the lecturer who has been known “hitler”.

Tok.dok..

“wis, yuk dinner! Sate maranggi in a good turn like”, Burhan's voice sounded while showing his face behind the door.

“iyah, magrib first yes han” I replied briefly.

Enjoying satay maranggi at night in the city of Jakarta now has its own sensation. I who is a boarding boy feel quite satisfied with ten skewers accompanied by rice that is mounted on a plate. As for Burhan, as usual he will spend his money as he pleases. I don't know how many stitches he ate. I can't stop thinking, for a Burhan must be willing to live hard at a narrow boarding house next to me. He could have lived in his apartment. Ah. I think he's really in love with me. Wherever I went he would follow me, I shuddered at the thought.

But do not worry, Burhan is a snapper playboy who is good at choosing women. Classes of models, artists, children of entrepreneurs he has often dated. But for friends, it is number one. He even offered me a job at his father's company. But I often refuse, because for me my ability is not commensurate with the name of the company that became one of the economic milestones of Indondesia.

“han, I can't take long.”

“where the hell Wis, nih” week night

“taskku much Han, not yet work from om Danu should I karin” my pretext, because after this isya I plan to contact the owner of the book that since this morning I wait and never arrive.

“exciting lo Wis, Sunday night still looking for a beautiful girl. Don't mind your book lo pacarin. Could be the book ma laptop enek see lo every day” quipped with a mocking tone.

After finishing our evening meal, Burhan finally decided to drive his luxury sports car to explore the streets of the capital. Strange indeed, down from the sate maranggi stalls equipped with air pollution last night and up to ride a luxury car. But it became a common sight in the end.

After convincing Burhan with the plans for my college assignments, I immediately opened the book of ashes of the owner of a beautiful woman with a shoulder with a simple pigtail that he always displayed.

Wita Maharani,

that's the name on the book of ashes I'm holding. This book is no different than any other notebook. I thought this was a drawing book, it turned out to be a regular notebook with a hardcover that covered every piece of paper. Yes Aampuun, what happened to my heart?, I just read his name my heartbeat has been beating unbecoming. Do I have to call my friend Rini who works at Harapan Kita Hospital, to make sure my heart is okay?.

Then I saw the next row of identities,

TTL: Bandung, April 19, 19**

Hahaha, that's right! my heart was made out of a woman 6 years younger than me? Don't I look like a pedopil?. Ish. imagining it makes my hair stand up.

Hobby: drawing.

Owh it I can confirm, almost every time I met him I never miss seeing him draw.

Address: Jl. General Sudirman ****

His house was close to where he was waiting for his angkot to arrive. So curious, can visit his house, right?. Hadduh.my mind is already ngawur. All my plans could fail in the middle of the road.

No. Phone: 08****

Ah.. BINGO. Finally, my lips did not feel a little thin after this eye caught a row of cellular digit numbers that I could call. I'll grab my phone on my padded mattress.

Tuuut..

The number on which the destination cannot be reached, try a few more moments.

What number am I following wrong? I repeated the numbers and I pressed a few digits of my phone.

Heather. tuut..

The number on which the destination cannot be reached, try a few more moments.

Heather. tuut..

“hallo.assalamu’alaikum”, the soft voice of a woman I heard in my right ear whose source came from my own phone. Aah. eventually.

“wa’alaikumussalam”.

“with Wita Maharani?” my many.

“iyah right, with whom?”

“my Vishnu”.

“owh Vishnu who is it?”

“i found your ash book”.

“owh o Allah, alhamdulillah”, the answer sounds like a tone of relief.

“I found it on the sidewalk where we used to meet” I replied back.

“owh, mas who likes to wait for Bandung-Jakarta buses?” tanyakanya. I don't know why that question got me flying into the clouds. Does he like to watch me? Hahhaha.don't forget Vishnu.

“what can I take it?”, he asked.

“owh iyah of course, I do intend to convert it”

“well, god willing tomorrow I am ambi ya mas. Can I have the address?”

“owh no need, I will deliver. Coincidentally I was in Jakarta, the most we could meet on Friday’at.” Reply with confidence, fyuuuh. pede once I can say the word ‘meet’.

“owh so yes. Alright it's okay” replied in a disappointed tone.

Kriik.kriik..

The atmosphere was suddenly silent, there was no further conversation. I was again confused to just open a simple chat.

“apa... still there is something you want to convey to Vishnu?” the question breaks the silence.

“ah. none. There is no ko.”

“well, thank you yes mas I think the book is missing”

“sama-sama”

“good mas, assa.”

“eh.. briefly Wita”. What the hell else do I want to say. The closing greeting from my conversation with the woman was a heavy terrace for me.

“iyah mas?”

“Hmmz.. jum’at we met in The Abah Caffe around 2 hours, can?”

“iyah inshya allah can” he replied.

“hmmmzz I muttered in confusion. Do not close it. Do not close it. I want to say those words.

“book can I read?”

“ha.. iyah why?” tanyanya astonishment,

“eh, no!. It's okay if you can't”

“huahahaha..” he sounded a light laugh.